What Dawn Brings
by Kat Dakuu
Summary: When England is feeling his worst, the last person he expects to comfort him is France, but then, he's the only one around. FrUk.


"Mon petit diable, are you alright?" Francis cooed as Arthur leaned over the table, rubbing furiously at his head. The smaller man's short blonde hair stuck up in serious disarray, twisting in every direction imaginable. Numerous empty beer cans and one broken tea cup littered the table and the floor. Francis' smile dipped down into a frown. "Angleterre? Exactly how much did you have to drink?" He dropped a hand onto Arthur's shoulder only to receive a groan. The smaller man didn't even try to push his hand away. This was indeed bad. Not only did England have a hangover, but by the way he dropped his forehead back to the table and just lay there like something dead, he was depressed. Such finery as a teacup didn't normally find itself in white shattered pieces beneath France's shoe.

Pouting, he crouched down next to Arthur and simply sat without trying to comfort his rival physically. That would only make the feisty man angry. He obviously didn't want to be alone though, or he'd kick Francis out. Right? "You know, if something's bothering you, you can tell me. If it is a matter of love, there is no one better than me to help!" he added with a nervous chuckle.

"No one wants your crappy advice, perv," England ground out without lifting his head. He barely annunciated, but Francis understood perfectly. Despite the insult, he found himself beaming as he rubbed Arthur's shoulder.

"That's more like it. I was worried there for a second, Angleterre." If England lost his insults, then he wasn't England anymore. The one thing he and France shared were their fights. Just the thought of those ending forever had the smile dropping straight off France's face. Hesitantly, Arthur turned his head so he was facing his long time rival.

"You're an idiot with love and I bet I know better than you. But if you want to stay...that would be..." Arthur quickly turned his head back to face plant into the table. "...okay." The Englishman groaned from moving his head too fast and France chuckled at him. He had no intention of leaving anyway. After a second more of watching the wilted looking Arthur, he got up to go make some of that tea the man was so fond of. He returned a few minutes later to see that England hadn't moved and in fact, looked even more wilted. All the life seemed to have gone from his limbs and his spine trembled with the need to sob when didn't have the energy left for it. France hurried his pace and set two teacups down on the table before dropping to his knees behind England. If the smaller man noticed him there, he didn't show it. Uttering gentle shushing noises, Francis rubbed both hands over his back.

"Oi oi, please don't cry. I won't know what to do if you cry!" Francis was truly getting nervous and his mind hit full blown panic when Arthur spoke again.

"...but you said you wouldn't leave. And then you did," England whispered, his voice strained and quiet. He never lifted his head. Was he really crying? Francis swore and bucked up. He grabbed hold of Arthur and forcibly yanked him out of his huddled position. England fought him the entire way, muttering wobbly curses, but Francis managed to get him sitting upright and facing him. England's eyes were red and swollen. The wetness made his cheeks look grimy and a rather unsightly wetness dripped from his nose. Francis let out a small cry of horror at the sight.

"Shut up! Don't look at me, damn frog. I-if you don't get out of my house, I'm going to call the police. You're awful! I hate you fuckin' wanker!" But even as he yelled the jumbled together insults that sounded more desperate than angry, he grabbed fistfuls of France's shirt and pulled the man close. Fresh tears spilled out as he buried his face in the horrid purple silk. He couldn't believe he was crying to _him _of all people, but no one else came to check on him. England shut himself in his house two weeks ago. Did anyone come to ask if he was okay? He moped around just to see, but the results fueled his depression. Only Francis came. Why did it always have to be Francis? The taller man rubbed Arthur's back and whispered soothing words that neither of them cared to understand.

Francis found comforting his long time rival and friend easier than he thought. He hated to be around crying people and understood the spats he had with England better, but France would suck it up even for him at a time like this. "Mon ami, what's got you twisted up in knots like this? If someone has broken your heart..."

"America."

Francis blinked in surprise. "Eh?" He wasn't sure he heard that right and what exactly did Arthur mean by bringing up the noisy nation now, unless... "You mean America and um...and-?" Francis couldn't even begin to put the words in the right order.

"Yes you stupid frog," Arthur muttered weakly. His no longer shook and seemed to have stopped his tears too, but he didn't lift his head from the now wet spot on France's shirt. "We broke up two weeks ago after being together so long. H-he said I'm mean and I'm unfeeling. That I bottle him up and make him unhappy." He couldn't stop himself from letting the words spill out even though he wanted desperately to keep the relationship all to himself. He never wanted to tell anyone about it, even when it hurt him. Arthur didn't need to look up to see the deep frown painting the other's face.

Francis cried out in dismay. "That's not true at all! I mean...about you being unfeeling!" the man exclaimed. Although it surprised him greatly that the two nations had been dating, he accepted that and quickly moved on. What surprised him the most was how broken up over it England was. Surely he didn't take the words to heart? Didn't he know break up fights were always filled with low blows; he'd been through enough to know. Hell, he'd thrown his own horribly low insults that he couldn't take back no matter now much he regretted them. Arthur's broken huff told him this was exactly the case.

"I'm an awful lover," Arthur said simply, as if stating a fact of life. Francis pulled back so they could properly look at each other.

"I'll admit that you're stodgy and unfashionable and..." England rose a fist, his eyes narrowing in cold anger. Okay, this wasn't helping. Francis cut himself off with a sheepish smile. "But even if that's the case, you care very much about people even if you hate to show it. And anger makes you cute and even those caterpillar eyebrows can be gotten used to. I don't hate the way you are. Just...don't dare tell anyone I said that! You'll always be my favorite petit diable," Francis added with a brilliant smile.

Hesitantly, Arthur raised his eyes to meet Francis'. "You really think so?" Smiling at the meekness, Francis nodded his head. "I'm glad you're here right now." And Arthur really was. France took the role of friend rather than an enemy before, but never more obviously than now. As they leaned closer again, unblinking eyes never leaving each other, Arthur thought that maybe it wasn't a friend he was looking for at all. He licked his lips and a second later, Francis pressed a kiss to them. A kiss that started out slow and tender, but grew more frenzied as Arthur kissed him back. They moved as one, lifting hands to tangle in each other's hair as they pulled closer together. Never once did they close their eyes.

When Arthur pulled away, he finally let his eyes slip closed. When he opened them again, Francis still sat in front of him with that awed look on his face. It made Arthur feel seriously irritated. He almost said so, but couldn't bring himself to. His depression faded with one smile from Francis. And he wanted so bad for Francis to do more than smile at him, but if they did that now, it might be the end of them forever. No more England and France wrestling at the world meetings, no more of this tender kiss. Arthur was going to ruin everything.

"Francis, I don't think we should do this now..." Arthur started slowly. He pulled back, but with obvious reluctance. "I'm still not over him and this will get all messed up."

"It's okay. I don't mind being a rebound fuck if that's what you need." Francis kept his voice calm and his smile easy. Of course he'd prefer it if Arthur flung himself in his arms and proclaimed undying love. That obviously wouldn't happen though, at least not yet. It might hurt to get so close, then pull away from the small Brit, but Francis wouldn't say no now. Arthur nodded his head slowly, almost numb looking. Francis dropped down again to capture the smaller man's lips so he didn't have to ponder that expression. This time, the kiss exploded with passion. Arthur's eyes slid closed as he opened his mouth to the other's probing tongue. Francis took over the kiss easily as he pushed Arthur down to the floor and slid on top. They didn't miss a breath as clothes were pulled away and bodies pulled closer.

Afterwards, they lay in contentment together. Arthur was sticky and Francis felt too warm next to him, but strangely he didn't want to push the other male away yet. That was something he always did with Alfred. He had to get clean and in proper clothes and bed immediately; no need to stay naked for longer than necessary. The gentle breaths next to him calmed his frazzled nerves though. Why hadn't he noticed that Francis was such a gentlemen and that his strong arms were just as good for holding as throwing punches? He still wanted to hate Francis and probably would always be his rival, but...

Surprisingly, it was Francis who moved first. He untangled himself from his one-night lover and sat up. Finding his pants, he was about to get up and leave Arthur to himself-after helping him to the bed of course-when he heard something whispered and indecipherable. Or that's what he told himself, because he swore it sounded like '_don't _go_'. _England reached over and grabbed France's hand. The taller man looked back at him, confused and concerned at the same time. England struggled to sit up and tightened his grip on France's arm.

"Will you go out with me!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly. Two hearts skipped a beat. A second later, Arthur's face turned bright red. What the hell was he saying? The words just went and jumped out of him on their own. He realized that dating Francis was exactly what he wanted though. Unlike how things were with America, he felt wanted and he so desperately wanted to keep feeling that. Half a minute passed and still they stared silently. England's nerves frazzled at the ends. "W-what the hell, you bloody git? Aren't you going to say something back?!"

Francis started laughing suddenly, making Arthur go red with anger as much as embarrassment. He shoved Francis' chest and turned his head away to grumble into his shoulder. Francis grew serious a second later though with the tense atmosphere now broken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh," he whispered as he tilted Arthur's face back toward him. The Brit looked so nervous under the mask of anger that it melted Francis' heart. His heart half fell the second he saw Arthur's teary face, but now it tumbled dangerously down. "But I'm a little surprised. Aren't you maybe being a bit rash? I thought this was just a one night thing." He said his words carefully to hide how much his hopes soared. He knew they could be dashed any second.

Arthur's face fell dramatically and he pulled away from Francis, his gaze dropping again. "I just thought..." He swallowed hard. "I thought you would be happy."

Francis let out a cry and grabbed Arthur in a sudden hug before kissing him again. "Of course I am! I would love to date you, mon cher. But you better be sure of this. If you realize you've made a mistake and dump me next week, I'm going to start another war with you!" he exclaimed with as much passion as anger, as if love and hate got mixed up. He meant every word of it. He opened his mouth to say more, but Arthur dropped a fist on top of his head and kissed him back. A second later, the smaller man pulled back.

"I'm sure about this. And if you bloody attack my shores, I'm just going to kick yer arse _again!_" he exclaimed with a smirk crossing his face. Francis' faced pulled with a wounded look. A second of staring at each other, then they both burst into laughter as they grappled with each other. Part noogies, part kissing, and each of them just a little loving how their teeth mixed with tongue. They moved to the bed and settled down to spend the night together. Who knew what the future would bring, but this was something worth trying for a little longer than a night.

(Hey ya'll. This is my first time finishing and publishing a fic, so I'd really appreciate any love (or hate) you can give me. Anything is welcome.)

Mon ami- my friend

mon cher- my dear

mon petit diable- my little devil

Though I suspect most people reading this will know this basic French.


End file.
